


Your Rent is Due

by Kameiko



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicide, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kameiko/pseuds/Kameiko
Summary: No one notices Matt's cold dead body till a text message is sent out to all hisfriendsasking them to stop by on the fifth of next month.FulfilledPrompt!





	Your Rent is Due

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any franchises, products, and characters mentioned in this story. My work is purely for everybody's enjoyment, and I would like to keep it that way. Having ownership over all this that requires contracts and other lawful fruitfulness is just too much responsibility. I am not ready for that kind of work, nor does my massive paycheck of $0.00 show for it in the world of fanfiction.
> 
> Thank you for checking out this story! Please be warned that this story might not be your cup of tea as this contains a reference to suicide by slitting of the wrist. If this upsets you then this story is definitely not for you. You've been warned.

_They_ didn’t know. How could _they_? Not one mentioned anything about the condition of Matt’s declining health both mentally and physically to himself or to someone who can treat him. His closest friends went on with their own business, forgetting about the _person_ they’ve dumped. That’s not entirely true, they did worry about him when his name is involved in one of their own past personal affairs that seem to make their appearance every other day. When they tried to call, Matt wouldn’t answer his phone, he would click the ignore button, and forget about them two minutes later. They’re not worth the life he is struggling. Recently Matt’s mental health has been seeing his own self turn into something he can’t even fathom. It became natural and enough for his everyday life. He rarely ever left the house, only to get the necessities of milk and break with some toothpaste. At least that’s what his grocery receipts says with the 10% off on the next available purchase coupon still attached to all of them. Only if he used them in time, he would have bought his friends something, maybe an “I miss you” card, if they exist in the department of self-pity. Genuine Hallmark expressions are rare these days.

Now, Matt Murdock is sitting here on the couch, eyes wide open, watching the blank TV in front of him. One he can’t see, one he clearly can’t hear, the static pouring out, and he can’t hear whoever is knocking on his door demanding for him to turn off the racket or they’ll call the police. He can’t even hear it’s a woman’s voice screaming out inaudible threats or the sounds of sirens pulling up right outside of his building. Two cops getting out of their vehicle, one he should recognize, but he doesn’t hear the heartbeats. Another person he failed to notice earlier is wearing a specific set of cloth to God is taking the elevator up to his apartment, he doesn’t wish to greet him or hear about the things he’s done by making _those_ people worry about him. Probably going to tell him to attend mass more often, so he can get an earful of a life lesson from the nuns, specifically that one woman who always scorns him. Their lives no longer mean anything to his cold body. There is nothing and he leaves with nothing. Into the nothing he goes, watches the darkness around him, and then there is a white canvas of houses and stars.

The man in cloth, Father Lantom, is in Matt’s apartment building watching an angry woman pound away at his. who he considers his own child. door. “Come now. This is not necessary. The police are right outside, and if they see you continue to lash out like this after you have called them, they’ll ask you to leave and will be forced to take your noise complaint statement outside.”

The woman stops. She leans her head against the door, eyes closed, and teeth are grinding against each other. She is angry. Angry that she didn’t get here sooner, angry at the text message she received weeks ago before coming up with a good excuse to visit Matt. Her name is Karen Page, and this is her guilt level to the tenth degree or Hell, nothing can go higher than this on her own moral scale. She feels stupid, she bangs the door again, hoping for Matt to answer, and that this is just one bad dream she hasn’t woken up from, not yet. She picks up the phone out of her pocket, her hand is shaking, and no call back from who she considered her only friend at the time, Foggy. She tries to call him, voicemail of the rude kind. She screams and throws the phone down on the ground, causing the glass to crack, damn no crack proof cover. She kneels to pick it up, clumsy fingers push it further away.

Father Lantom goes over to the phone, picks it up, and hands it to Karen, feeling remorse for her. “I am sorry for not recognizing you before, Miss Page. Are you ok? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Karen opens her text message, fingers trying to scroll through texts of the last message she received from Matt. It’s hard for her, everything looks mish and mashed together out of fear and anger…regret. Tears are popping from her eyes, staining the cracked glass, making the screen move around in a fit due to the sensitivity setting. She screams again, throwing her phone back down on the ground, not even caring that it lands right at the two officer’s feet. One of the cops with dark skin, and a gentle tone complex that goes by the name of Officer Brett picks up the phone, he pulls out a handkerchief, and wipes away the tears on it, catching glimpses of a text sent to Karen what feels like a few days ago, but, it’s been two weeks. Brett can only make out a sentence apologizing to Karen for not being the man she wanted him to be and letting the devil inside him come out a little bit more each time they talked together via text or in person.

Karen snatches the phone out of Brett’s hands. “Please don’t go through that. I can’t…I can’t. The smell coming from the apartment, I tried to use…use…the noise inside…” She lets out a few shaky breaths. She couldn’t talk anymore. She profoundly apologized and ran down the stairs before Brett could catch her. The police officer that came with Brett calmly went after her to make sure she doesn’t run into traffic with how high her anxiety is.

Father Lantom is worried. He turns to Brett, holding out to him a spare key he pulled out of his pocket. “Matthew gave me this nearly a month ago. Told me to come back on this day and talk to him. He said he would have his thoughts cleared by then, he would be happy, and he would come back to the church on Sunday’s…I knew he lied, but I had to let him find his own way, he persisted.” Guilt is shown even more on his face than Karen’s. He knew there is something fishy about his story, but he couldn’t place his finger on it till today.

Brett places his hands on his hips and looks at the door, the sound of faint static can still be heard coming out of the TV. “Whatever happened between you two I am sure can be handled like adults. I am only here to investigate a phone call, and by the voice of the lady on the phone I assume she’s the one who ran out of here in tears, which makes me believe something is going on up in here other than someone having a volume setting too high. If you would, can you please unlock the door, father.”

“Of course.” Father Lantom unlocks the door.

The two people walk inside, the lights are turned off. Brett feels around for the light switch on the wall, he clicks it on, and what the two see before them unsurprisingly shocks them. Matt’s body is sitting on the couch, body stiff, mouth open, and soulless eyes creeping up at the ceiling, no longer interested in the ghosts of the TV. Brett quickly goes over to the TV and turns it off. He pulls out his phone and calls the scene in, his own hands shaking as bad as Karen’s. He’s thinking he’s in a state of shock, not because of the body, he’s seen plenty of dead bodies during his time on the force, but what’s next to the body…both sides of the body. One side laid Matt’s lawyer suit he would wear to court cases with an egg timer on top, and the other is…the Daredevil costume with a note attached to it. He couldn’t move after piecing it all together, petrified to the spot, and all he can do is watch Father Lantom say a prayer and give the sign of the cross.

Satisfied with making sure Matt’s soul goes to a place less Hellish, he wants to think this, Brett resumes examining the body. Unaffected by the articles of clothing lying next to Matt. He picks up the note and starts to read the bare minimum amount of words, like there is a metaphorical timer, and he had to…bloody wrists, he understands why there is a timer on the lawyer clothing. A gulp escapes his throat, the blood has long dried all over the couch and floor, the air stinks of rotting body order, and he can’t help but cover his mouth. It’s just now hitting him, all of it, including the realization that Matt is gone. He really didn’t know Matt that well, only met him a few times, making sure the lawyer stays out of trouble? Finding out about this? He doesn’t know what to say, realizations of what went down in places he always came afterwards…it hit him like a ton of bricks. He needs to sit down.

Father Lantom sits down next to Brett. Offers him his shoulder to tell his story. Brett holds up his hand to tell him he’s not interested, he needs to get these witness statements made, fetch Karen, and find out if Matt left any emergency contact numbers. This is going to be a nightmare, and the sooner he gets this done the faster he can go home to get a drink. The priest gets the hint, he takes the piece of paper out of Brett’s hands and sits down somewhere else. Brett knows he can’t do this here, but how many people will find out that Matt Murdock is Daredevil? What’s going to happen to the city when…he finds out…there will be a party. A death party sung in prison with the bald and powerful man eating an omelet with extra toppings to celebrate. The gangs will come back out of their hiding holes, the streets will be unsafe again, and more cop killers will go back to doing what they do best.

Father Lantom finishes his written affidavit and sets it on the table across from Brett. “If you don’t need me, I will be informing the church we lost one of our own. Please take care.”

Brett doesn’t say anything. He hears the officer coming back up with Karen. He looks up at her tears, her hair is a wreck, and she looks like she wants to vomit from the sight of Matt. She covers her mouth to stop her from screaming and the rise of bile, Brett stands up and forces her out the door. He quietly closes it and tries to get her to calm down. They don’t need to be making a scene and cause even more disturbance to the neighbors around them. The group goes down to the lobby to talk, an investigation and forensics team have already arrived…along with the news media. Brett looks at his partner, giving him a questioning look to why he called the networks? The officer looks away in guilt. He just wants to get out of here as much as the next guy.

The officer continues and tries to explain himself, get some sense across to Brett, because right now, his emotions look like they’re under the rocks. “They’re going to find out anyways…I…I spoke to the landlord when I came back with Miss Page. He hasn’t paid rent and-“

“So you thought it be best if the world finds out about Daredevil right this second, not giving us a bit of time to deal with Fisk.” Brett pinches the bridge of his nose. “Miss Page, I need you to come with me to the station, you might be in danger here if anyone catches you hanging around.”

Karen folds her hands together. “Fisk will find out anyways. Let’s just get this over with…” She feels numb right now, this is her state of shock, and how she handles death ever since her brother dying in the car accident due to her irresponsible driving. What a mess today has been. She can’t even imagine how Foggy will handle this. She doesn’t have the heart call her other ex-friend. Just enjoy the police ride to the station for this few moments of agonizing solitude.

Meanwhile, Foggy is going through some reports on an upcoming case that Jeri decided to throw at him last night. He doesn’t have time to fully look over the twenty vanilla folders laying alongside his many “to do” files. He sighs and really decides it’s time for a cup of coffee before he starts seeing little 11-point font print in his sleep. He’s already starting to see it in the swimmers clearly in his eyes and that’s not a good thing when lacking sleep. He needs to douse water on his face to get his vision to focus before he even attempts to bring this hot goodness to his lips.

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Foggy pulls out his phone, a number he doesn’t recognize, could be a potential client that somehow found his personal cell. He debates if he wants to answer it, they could call back, demand a ransom. No, nothing bad like that could happen. He’s in a very secure building, and in the part of town where two other vigilantes can come and rescue him.

“Nelson speaking, who is this?” Foggy sits down when he finds out it’s the hospital calling him, letting him know about Matt. The authorities at the hospital tell him that Matt’s in case of emergency contact is just with one number, and it’s his friend’s…ex-friend’s. Their ties of friendship ended a long time ago, he’s not about going back and pretend everything is fine and their friendship is still going strong. He doesn’t even give the authorities that have come on the line time to ask him questions as he hangs up, he can’t deal with them right now. He’ll deal with the damning consequences from it later. He fights the pain in his heart, the idiocy of his brain, and the pressure in the back of his neck where the guilt is starting to fester, smiling at him, in a foggy black smoke with a Cheshire smile. It’s sickening yellow kisses are leaving slobber. Foggy bats it away. Taking a deep breath, he calls Karen…all the while the guilt frowns and latches back on, sucking at the brain stem, sending electronic pulses of a migraine that’s starting to form. The mumbled news media in the background talking about Daredevil becomes clearer.   

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Foggy mutes the call from Marci…Putting the phone on silent.

_Silent ring! Silent ring! Silent ring!_

He doesn’t even look at the incoming call from his mother…He can’t hear it.

Karen is dealing with her own mess right now, too busy with her own mental state to answer Foggy when he calls her over his girlfriend and mother. She stares at her phone, not the one in her hand, the one in the reflection of the mirror. She looks tired, guilty, feels a white boa constrictor coiling around her body, slithering up to her ear letting her know she did this to Matt. He had brave and boldness to let her in on his secret at the end of all the chaos with _The_ _Hand_. She didn’t like it when Matt told her, found out that Foggy knew all along and…. she needs a drink. She goes to her refrigerator and pulls out malt liquor, she can’t do the hard stuff tonight, and she needs to get to work in the morning. Please the snake of her emotions first if she has too. It coils around her neck, tighter, suffocating her, she grasps for oxygen, grabbing at something that’s not there. She falls forward, head hitting the table. She groans, rubbing it, the choking is gone, the snake is gone…the numbness has come, it’s unpacked its bags, tipped off its hat, and is smiling at her with the same Cheshire smile the guilt gave Foggy. Wonder if they’re related.

There is no escape from this, guilt and numbing pain followed them to Matt’s funeral, both dressed in white while everyone is dressed in black. Father Lantom is giving the sermon, failing to notice the shame green gremlin on his own shoulder, waving to its comrades.

In the end, they’ll have to live with their own personal demons that made itself into living beings of their own mind while Matt rests in happiness among the stars of heaven.


End file.
